Coming Home
by CSIphoebe
Summary: He always knew that, one day, she would leave to fulfil her destiny; he just never imagined her not coming home. Tales were told and songs were sung about the Dragonborn's heroic sacrifice, but what happened to those she left behind? Brynjolf's POV.


Note: I do not own Brynjolf or any of the places mentioned in this piece of work, only my OC Freyja. I apologise if he seems slightly out of character or if the storyline does not work.

Thank you for reading!

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As soon as she left two years ago, a part of me knew she wouldn't return. 'The Dragonborn would give her life to save Skyrim', that's what they all said. I suppose it made for a better story. No one considered the possibility that the lass could come back to us alive, because the truth is, we all knew deep down she wouldn't be walking away this time around.

The stubborn side of my being refused to accept the rumours of her death, for that was all they truly were at the time. But as seasons passed and her absence became much more evident, my hope shrivelled to the almost non-existent state it is in now. She was gone. I just had to accept it.

Being a thief, you learn to trust few people, for you never know when one may let their tongue slip and land you in trouble, but Freyja was an anomaly. She always had my back, and I had hers. After the coldness and treachery of Mercer, she was a welcome change, and thanks to her the Guild now thrives like it did all those years ago. She was the best damn thief we'd had in a while, and yet she was dragged from us by the World Eater's talons.

In terms of how much Nirn has changed, Riften is a constant in a sea of variables. It is still awash with the orange glow of the leaves that dot the trees, the stench of the stagnant river still pollutes the air, and the guards are still utterly oblivious to the crime and corruption beneath the streets. Their ignorance often amuses me…

I sit against the moss covered wall beside the shrine of Talos, clutching the damned letter that does nothing but remind me of the one I lost. My palms have creased the paper and smudged the ink, but the message still rings clear.

_Brynjolf,_

_I do not know if I shall return from Sovngarde, but it is what I must do, regardless of my own thoughts on the matter. Just promise me one thing, Brynjolf; take care of them, please. For me. The Guild became a family to me, which is what's making my good-byes all the more challenging. You are a capable leader, you always were, which is why I failed to see why the reins were passed to me, so I have no doubt you will guide the Guild to a better future. _

_I had hoped I would have the chance to tell you this in person, but evidently the Divines have other ideas. I-I love you Brynjolf, and I am a coward to only address these feelings at a time like this. I am so sorry. _

_Farewell, friend._

_~Freyja. _

I curse and fold the battered paper up before roughly shoving it back into my pocket. I try to fight the anger swelling up inside me, but my attempts are futile. The words are seared into my brain, taunting me with the fact that I lost her. I often wonder if the Daedra are enjoying this, watching down at their sick little game with content. _Damn them all. _A clenched fist hits the wall and I shut my eyes, trying desperately to contain the emotions that threaten to spill from their lids. _I don't care if Nirn rots in Oblivion, just bring her back! _The sharp pain from the impact shoots through my wrist, and I am glad that for once I can feel something other than the emptiness of my body.

I sit there for a while, watching as Masser and Secunda work their way across the darkening sky above me. The anger subsides into purposelessness once again. Hauling myself up off the ground, I brush the dust off my clothes and try to regain a shred of the dignity I lost during my brief outburst. The cool evening air washes over my face in a relaxing manner and the thick fog that clouds my brain starts to clear ever so slightly, leaving my mood considerably more pleasant than it was before.

I make my way along the cobbled road before leaning against the wooden fencing on the bridge to the market. I do not know where I plan to go, for I cannot face the Guild like this. They do not deserve to suffer the wrath of my foul mood. I look out at the landscape before me and reluctantly remember the day I first met the lass. I turn away quickly; it's better to let a wound heal before potentially making it worse. The heavy city gates swing open with a groan and irregular footfalls echo through the air. Their dark attire seamlessly blends in with the gloomy surroundings as they pace forward, their slight limp slowing them down to a degree. It is only when the figure walks within the glow of the burning torches that I catch a glimpse of their face, still as scarred and hollow as the day they left.

_Freyja._

Before I realise what I am doing, I find myself stood before her, looking down at the cowering wreck with a sense of disbelief. It is not until I wrap my arms around her scrawny form that I am assured she is real; that she is truly here. Once lithe and toned, her bones now stick out prominently beneath her Nightingale armour. Her hair seems darker than it was before, and hangs unevenly just above her shoulders, and she trembles within my embrace. Something changed her- I can see it in her eyes. They seem... empty. Lifeless. Even the thought of what they had to witness scares me. As I breathe in her scent, my nose is plagued by the stench of burning flesh and smoke. She is broken, and that is evident. She is not the Freyja that walked out of Riften two years ago to fulfil her destiny.

We do not speak; instead we simply stand there in a comfortable silence we are both accustomed to. She pulls herself closer to my chest and buries her face in the sweet smelling leather, and I plant a soft kiss on the top of her head. There is no need for words; I have my Freyja back, and that is all that matters.


End file.
